


I Was Never Forbidden Fruit

by Sevynlira



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Lust, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Miracles, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevynlira/pseuds/Sevynlira
Summary: Sometimes a little miracle can get a lot out of hand. For sure if you have been holding onto it for a few thousand years. Silly angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 60





	1. The minor matter of a miracle

Aziraphale was the very least sneaky angel to ever exist. Well, except for the fact that he had managed an entire arrangement with a demon. And he had given away his weapon to some desperate humans. And lied to God. Ok. Well, maybe Aziraphale was a little sneaky. Just a smidge. But there was a certain demon named Crowley. A golden eyed adversary that never once let him get away with it. The before mentioned arrangement with said demon meant that when Aziraphale miracles himself just one more tartlet on the plate, those eyes sparkle with amusement and his clever mouth smirks in a knowing way. In a way that says, " _ah, I see you angel, greedy thing, haven't even started those tarts and already grasping for more._ " Or at the auction house when some lovely manuscript was nearing ludicrous prices, the demon would lick his lips as if he could taste Aziraphale's covetous heart and raise the placard himself.

The angel supposes that is all part and package of the whole demon gig actually. To sense these things. It was disturbing actually. Mostly because Aziraphale is hiding something. It is exhausting. The piercing nature of that catlike gaze is so familiar. Beloved. It seemed like such a small thing way back then. Oh, around two thousand years ago. But that was when he rarely saw the demon. Now, he has to hold onto this miracle for hours, days at a time! It's getting to be more than just a little strain.

You see, just now Aziraphale is holding Crowley's lovely fine boned hand and he is being asked (in that round about stuttery way) if he will move in with the fiend! Well of course he will! He can't fathom a life without him. Crowley owns his heart completely. Has done for ages. Not really sure when that happened, but probably around about the time that Nazi's were mucking up the world.

There is a tiny little problem though. Well, by this time it's probably a massive problem. You can't just hold a miracle steady for two thousand years and let it go and expect everything to tick on. There is whiplash. Reactions. Consequences. But to be fair, he hadn't expected any of this to go the way that it had. Nobody could have! It was ineffable! Until it wasn't. And here they were. Those eyes are so soft and open. Crowley is right in front of him and asking him to let go. It was time.

Confession is good for the soul. But so is humility and this is gonna be one heaping pile of that. He will need fortification. Maybe tomorrow? Just 24 hours to sort himself out and get used to the idea of actually admitting what he has done. Actually. No. He can't do that. It has to be now. He will surely talk himself into a fretful mess if he waits. Better to just rip the plaster and be done with it. Ah fuck, this is going to be ridiculous. He is an angel for crying out loud.

"Is something wrong, angel? We don't. We don't have to. We can do whatever we like, really. I just thought. Uh-wuh. Ya know-" Crowley makes a meaningful face as if to describe everything that has happened these past six thousand years. He seems about to back away and rescind the offer, so the angel is obliged to tug on the hand he is still clutching.

"Oh no. Please. Everything is just splendid. Truly astounding really. I am just. Well. Adjusting." Aziraphale excuses himself with a halfhearted worried little smile. He belies his words by immediately gulping down half his glass of wine and dropping the hand to begin some rather intense fluttering about the tiny space.

Crowley frowns a bit and turns to grab his black jacket from the chaise. "No rush, angel. We don't have to decide anything right now. I will just go and you can give us a bell when things are settled."

Aziraphale makes some desperate noise and rushes to clutch the black coat as if he can hold it hostage and keep the demon at hand. "Crowley! No! It's best. Well. It's better if you stay here for a bit. I just. I have something to tell you. A bit of a confession actually. We simply cannot cohabitate until this- small- matter is dealt with."

Crowley stands stock still for a moment before tipping his head and peering intently at the angel. That piercing gaze sharpens and he looks closely. The most shocking thing happens. Aziraphale's face begins to turn pink. Then flushes deeper red. The angel is blushing! He is squirming and sweating and turning almost purple. "What in hell's name are you on about?" Never, in six thousand years has the angel blushed. There might have been a hint of pink in his cheeks sometime during the Roman empire, but that might have just been a bit of sun. Oh this is interesting. Whatever the angel is about to reveal has him practically dancing with discomfort.

Aziraphale grips the coat and the arm beneath to steady himself and nods with affirmation to himself. He is going to do it. He is going to tell Crowley what he has done. "I have held a miracle in place for two thousand years." He blurts as if this will explain everything. This, of course, only muddles things and now Crowley's brows are drawn down in confusion.

"What?" The demon is totally lost now. "Why? That's not very efficient angel. Setting events into motion is always a better way. Dominoes. I mean. Innit? Nobody just holds a steady miracle. Natural order." Crowley gesticulates with his hands as if he is describing the wheels of the universe. "Free will. Reasons."

"Yes, I have to let go of the miracle." Aziraphale explains. "It's going to backfire. There will be consequences, Crowley." The scared little tremor in Aziraphale's voice immediately has the demon prepared for battle.

"Whatever you need, angel. We will deal with it together. I'm sure you have some reason to do such a risky thing. We will figure it out." The calm reassurance that Crowley is attempting only makes the angel cringe harder and twist his hands in the coat. "What sort of miracle needs to be held for two thousand years though? I mean. Is the planet going to explode? You haven't been holding together some atmosphere or fixing the climate or something. I mean. We know it's been going to the dogs since the industrial revolution but really, angel. That isn't nearly that long."

The immensity of this confession makes Aziraphale's voice barely a whisper. "It was your hair. I think. At first." The admission is so quiet that Crowley is sure he must have misheard.

"What?" The answer is so unexpected that Crowley almost physically recoils.

"Your hair. So bright. We were at the hill of skulls and I was. Upset. Grieving. Hurt. And you were there." The angel wrings the coat in his fingers with his brow fixed in worry.  
"So suddenly right beside me. You had grown out your hair. It was burning like a flame down to your hips. I have never seen you look so beautiful. I wanted to comfort myself in you. I could barely look at you even out of the corner of my eye. It was like standing next to a flame. You have always been stunning. Of course, you know this. But it hadn't ever moved me in that way. I panicked. You are a demon! You would notice right away! You would sense my…"Aziraphale stumbles over the word.

"Lust, angel." Crowley helpfully offers, only to watch with amazement as the angel nods and his lashes flutter against his cheeks with fast blinks.

"So I turned it all down a little. I eased my perception with a miracle. Just a little grime on the lens, you know? To make you a little bit. Less."

"Less what?" Crowley asks even though he knows. It's just such a revelation that he must hear the angel say it.

"Less tempting." The angel admits while carefully averting his eyes from sheer embarrassment. The very notion is astounding.

"Angel, I thought. Well. You aren't really built to be susceptible to such things." Amending several thousand years of assumptions is taking Crowley a minute to process.

"Well we aren't supposed to be susceptible to crepes either. I think it's this realm. By that time it had been four thousand years of living with such wild changes and these imaginative bright lives. It changed me. Changed us!" Aziraphale has resumed his twitchy pacing and wrings his hands as he tries to explain himself.

"You have a point, Aziraphale." The demon soothes. "So let me get this straight. If you let this miracle go, it's going to recoil with two thousand years of _temptation-to-lust_ all at once. Yes?"

The angel nods in the most dispirited manner.

Crowley thinks for a moment and then continues, "We have three options. If I am looking at it right. Tell me if I am, angel. Option one, you can keep it going, and if we live together it's going to compound with interest because of our constant contact and probably explode when you lose the smallest bit of control. Option two, you can release it and we can separate without seeing each other for two thousand years until the miracle has met it's time sink. Or option three, you can release it and lust right at me as hard and as eagerly as an angel can manage for however many days it takes to work off two thousand years of pent up feelings." The demon can't help the smug little smirk that crawls over his face at the thought of that. "Oh I vote for the third option, angel."

Aziraphale can hardly face the deviant knowing smirk that Crowley is wearing. Oh! It’s embarrassing. The angel is so flustered that he gives in to the temptation to whack Crowley on the arm. “You fiend! You are enjoying this!”

Crowley’s eyes shine with delight, “Oh not yet, angel. Maybe soon though, eh?”

The bright haired angel just sort of collapses in total humiliation onto the sofa. He hides his face in his hands and makes a small sound of distress.

“Oh, hey. Aziraphale. Hey.” Crowley crouches and then kneels in front of his distraught friend. “This is going to be fine. Really. I am only teasing. I promised I would help you. Nothing bad will happen. We will figure it out together, ok. Our side. Yeah? Don’t you dare get the notion to gad off for two thousand years. I really will hunt you down. Don’t think I won’t. We have defied the powers that be, you and me. I refuse to spend another day without you here. Much less some fuckin nonsense like two thousand bloody years." Crowley makes a face. "Two thousand, angel? Seriously? You never thought, _hey, that’s quite enough of that_.”

The angel manages to lift his head enough to stare at the pattern of his trousers but not enough to meet Crowley’s eyes. “I just. I enjoy our time together and didn’t want to ruin everything with my ridiculous notions.”

“Who said anything about ruining things. Seriously. Bit dramatic, that. Humans do it all the time! I mean, well. What’s a little lust between friends, right?”

Aziraphale almost explodes with the force of his next objection, “Crowley! None of THEM have friends that FEEL it or taste it or whatever."

"Ah. Well. I suppose that does change things a bit dunnit? Oh, but angel, I wouldn't judge you for that. A stray hormone here or there is to be expected really. I mean. Well. You know- wait. Wait. Angel. You DON’T know. It's a perception filter. A perception. Filter. Oh. No.” Crowley shoots to his feet and begins pacing. “Seriously! No. Bloody hell. Angel!" Crowley is now holding his head as if it will explode from his latest epiphany. "Angel look at me."

The bewildered angel turns his wide eyes to watch his suddenly manic friend. Crowley steps forward within touching distance and allows himself to relax fully. He draws from within himself every single ounce of sexual intent and aims it right at the angel. He bites his suddenly flushed lips and lowers his golden eyes to the languorous inviting pose of a talented tease. His slender pale hands tug a single button free. Not a flinch. Not a twitch. His come hither looks are sliding right past the angel as if they never were. His sweet and clueless angel is simply looking at him without any sign of noticing. "Aziraphale, has it ever occurred to you that your handy perception filter. Might be. Well. Filtering your perception. You might be missing something rather significant or important? Or even useful information?"

"Crowley, I'm sure that your apparent beauty and grace and appeal seem like breaking news. But I can know all of those things without seeing it for myself. I am well aware that just about every third person we meet is all aflutter with your wiles. That is the entire problem actually. I am too aware! If I didn't notice I wouldn't have put it in place!"

Crowley only rubs a hand down his face and shakes his head in amazement. "Oh angel, you are missing something right this very second. Your perception filter is removing any possibly lusty things you might notice about my considerably lusty self."

"Well yes, that's the point. Crowley, you aren't making any sense. We are just saying the same thing." Aziraphale's frustration at this circling conversation is apparent.

"I almost don't want to tell you." Crowley mutters and takes Aziraphale's hand to lace their fingers together. He takes a long breath with closed eyes before he resumes. "For the last five minutes I have been looking at you with every single lusty imagining bare on my face. Even the thickest of all thick humans would have picked up on it. Even bloody Gabriel would have been quite sure that my next intention was to take you up and have you right over the back of this couch. I wasn't subtle. At all."

The angel's jaw drops. The implications of that comes over his face in one long realisation.

"Yes, I could have been staring at you exactly that way for two thousand years and you wouldn't have noticed. Maybe I have been. Maybe my besotted fluttering heart was lying right out on every table we sat together and every single time you passed it by without notice. Maybe everyone in the world has seen my face shining for you while you sat there blinded to it."

"Crowley-No." Aziraphale begins but is quickly interrupted by the agitated demon.

"Crowley-Yes. You ridiculous angel." Crowley snaps. "I don't even know where to start! It's all a right bloody mess." Crowley drives his fingers through his hair.

Aziraphale tries to venture a small question in this stormy room. "Tell me. Have you? Have you been?"

"I'm not going to tell you." The demon snaps waspishly.

"What? Why not?" The angel looks shocked and a little hurt. "Crowley, I told you that I wanted you."

"No, angel. No you didn't. You told me that you wanted me for a couple of minutes a few thousand years ago. You told me it was so inconvenient that you immediately stripped yourself of the impulse. You cheated. I am not going to tell you anything. Because you didn't want to see me."

Crowley actually looks pained by the implications of this. "I promised I would help you strip this blindfold off. I won't let you live with me and not see me. It's not just about you, Aziraphale. It never has been. So either you get your pure pretty feathers down here in the rutting real world, or you fuck right off until this urge passes you. I might need two thousand years to recover from wanting to wring your neck!

Crowley snatches his coat and rounds toward the door. "Think about it really hard Aziraphale because you aren't going to stay cool and calm when you take that thing off. You are going to be completely helpless and will have to trust me like you should have from the beginning. So if that notion bothers you it's best if you just find somewhere else to let go of it. I know you can't bloody see it, but I do care about you and I won't stay mad forever. You are my best friend, angel. But if you call me in the next two thousand years it is going to be because you have decided to go through the process with me and not alone. Don't you dare take it down and think to come over. We will need to prepare. If you come over in a mess, I will send you off again and I'm pretty sure in that state it would hurt. I want you to think about it. It's going to be embarrassing to the extreme.” Crowley scrubs his face in irritation. “Give your decision more than a coupla days. I have to calm down."


	2. bright eyes and tight pants

It takes three weeks. Three weeks of agonizing and picturing just how awful it will be. But in the end, no matter how humiliating this entire thing will be, he would miss his friend so much more. Two thousand years is too long. 

Crowley answers on the second ring. His voice sounds sleepy. "Angel? You are ringing me up, does that mean you are gonna stop that ridiculous miracle and let me help?" 

"I trust you Crowley." It's all he can manage and it's enough. 

"I'm on my way."

Aziraphale opens the door to a giant black screen being precariously balanced by a swearing demon. "What is all this, then?" He works up the temerity to ask.

Crowley's head pokes around the side of the television. "We don't know how long we are gonna be stuck in, do we? I brought my telly." It's all so normal and domestic that Aziraphale finds himself fluttering around a tea set and laying out some cucumber sandwiches. Crowley has brought more than his television. There is a forest of plants that have migrated into most sun drenched corner of the bookshop. A shiny sleek set of luggage and inexplicably, a mangy looking stuffed cat with ragged upholstery. The sharp edge of Crowley's face dares the angel to ask about it and wisely he defers. Crowley has just moved in. Moved in! It's all so surreal. Aziraphale is sure that any moment he is just going to wake up and all this flash bang change is going to be some wild dream. He hasn't ever had a dream before. The few times he tried to sleep, it was all dark and some vague sense that time passed. No dreams. Then again, he has been walking about with a perception filter for two thousand years, he is hardly an expert on reality.

After they have tucked in to their tea, (Actually, Aziraphale has tucked in and the demon only warms his hands against the delicate china.) Crowley takes the conversation around to the issue at hand. "Angel, taking this miracle down is going to be a lot like having a massive amount of very specific ecstasy. You will have to give over control. Which means, no matter how unfair or how wrong a choice might feel, if I tell you to do something, you must obey. I will take care of you Aziraphale but if you can't obey, this enterprise is likely to end up with a rape and physical violence. That would be the death of it. We will not be able to salvage that. Altered mental states truly fuck with consent and I'm a demon but I dont truck with raping my best friend or letting you destroy us that way either. There are ways to make it work, to get out of this sticky situation, but it means working out all the boundaries while you are clear headed.”

“So what we are going to do is this, you are going to take down the miracle for an hour. Then, once the hour is up, you are going to put it back up. You aren't going to want to do that. Not even a little. Nobody with a good old fashioned dose of lust is in the mood to turn it off. But you are going to do as you are told and we are going to figure out what you are prepared to do. I really really don't want to just tie you up to some cold wall and let you scream it out. But we will do whatever it takes. Do you agree?" 

The surreal feeling returns with a vengeance. Who is this controlled and focused and talkative person? Aziraphale has known him for six thousand years and figured to have a good grasp on every facet. But apparently not. The perception filter doesn't know what to do either because the serious cast of his narrow face is somehow kept well clear of being sensual but the orderly march of his tone and the direct demand is pushing the miracle hard. 

Oh. Aziraphale apparently doesn't mind this new Crowley. Determined and strict. Everything he is saying makes sense. It's not likely that he will be in any state to decide things and handing that over to Crowley is best. It has Aziraphale's stomach swooping with nervous excitement though. He keeps remembering Crowley saying "lust at me as hard and eagerly as an angel can manage". He can't exactly feel lusty about that but he sure can feel his naturally curious and hedonistic tendencies perk. "Yes, Crowley. Of course."

They settle in the cozy back room of the shop. Crowley sets about the task of mounting the TV on the wall as the miracle is slowly and gently dismantled by the nervous angel. Immediately there is a soothing warm comfort that falls over him. His posture sags a little. So odd. He had never noticed. The low level hum of discomfort had sought to reroute any urges toward luxury or softness. It was like having an itchy collar and a tight waistband. So insidious it pushed his body into an aware state that was tensed and overstimulated. A fretting muscle in his shoulder and chest unwinds and he sinks into the decadence of his sofa with a soft sigh. The split in his concentration and attention is also released after all this time. He is with Crowley and not having to hold this miracle in place. It's such a vast relief that he closes his eyes to savor it for just a-. Wait a second. He was sort of distracted by the beautiful relief. His eyes had managed to take a snapshot before he closed them. Crowley, bending forward, his tight little arse lovingly held by the slickest fine leather money could buy. Those trousers! Fuck! He was vaguely aware of the trendsetting drape of Crowley's clothes, but had fashion really dictated they be so tight? Every lean line of his thighs were dipped in the muted sheen of black on black. It was ridiculous and the filter had carefully edited those down to the bare basic shapes of black before. Leather is an invitation to decadence in touch and smell. Aziraphale wants so suddenly to bury his nose into the seams and learn what leather and Crowley smell like together. "It's working" Aziraphale grits out while still holding his eyes closed. 

The fiddling noise of Crowley's domestic project stops and he chuckles. "So I see, angel. How can you tell if your eyes are shut?"

Aziraphale dares to peel his eyes open to immediately gawp at the demon. Crowley had not straightened from his task, merely twisted to watch the angel over his shoulder. He is still bent at the waist, ass and thighs still stretching those delicious trousers. Aziraphale makes a high little desperate noise before exclaiming "that leather!"

The demon guffaws and then wiggles his hips playfully. It inspires yet another hilarious squeak from the angel. "Oh these ol things. You like them? That dirty mind of yours. Tsk tsk." He wings a cheerful wink at the angel and turns back to his task. Aziraphale tries to be objective. This is his friend. Familiar. Just. Crowley. Same old wily serpent. In skintight, breathtaking, arse hugging leather. He tries counting in his head. Finally he has to actually SIT on his hands. It is a rule. For this first hour. He must ride out the entire hour. He must not touch. He has to behave and try to stay sane. It's only an hour. 

It's the longest hour of his long long life. First, Crowley had been flaunting those trousers and when he turned around, it was goddamn obvious that wasn't going to be better. His soft looking shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his lean chest. Aziraphale could see the delicate notch where the wings of his collarbones met. So fine and perfect that they invoked some secret longing to see the arch of those other ones. If his ache to bury his face in the pants was bad enough, the desire to sink his teeth into those collarbones was twice as potent. He knows that he is blasting waves of lust into the room, but the demon seems unfazed. His natural slinking slouch has moved onto the other end of the couch and the TV has been launched into useful service. In their long years of friendship, Aziraphale has never been so subdued and quiet. Dusk is falling in the little room and the angel sits on his hands and tries to hold back every sound his throat wants to make. 

Sure enough, when the time comes to rebuild the miracle, it is only the gentle and firm instruction from Crowley that pushes him to do so. It feels like squeezing himself into a smaller space. In order for the demon's skin to lose that soft luminosity, the whole world has to turn a little bit grey. The moment it slides into place though, Aziraphale can hardly fathom what the fuss was all about.


	3. ready or not

"Alright then?" Crowley asks as the angel settles back into his familiar state. There it is again, the soft petal pink unfurling in Aziraphale's cheeks. It suits him so well. All pink and white. Crowley takes advantage of the miracle to openly enjoy that blush. He allows his eyes to take in the flustered angel as much as he likes. “You are blushing, angel”

“Am I?” Aziraphale raises his fingertips to touch his cheek. “I suppose I am.” His mouth pressed into a biteable little moue and he casts his eyes away from Crowley. The coquettish manner of those gentlemen of a certain type have always suited the angel.The shy glancing from beneath his lashes and the coy pleased set of his shoulders are enough to tell that he enjoyed their little venture. He, of course, wouldn’t ever say so out loud. It isn’t his way. 

Crowley wishes for a second that the angel had his wings out. They would be restless with shy excitement and wouldn’t that be a pretty picture? Perhaps later. The lascivious thought is probably filling his expression with open desire. It’s actually sort of pleasant to know that it is impossible to put the angel off by his admiring gaze at this moment. Unfortunately, like most shortcuts, there is too steep a price for this neat little trick. It has made everything between them all unpredictable and treacherous. 

Now there is the question of consent and uncertainty. It’s all mixed up on what is real. To just assume somebody is totally asexual for so long and then learn that it is just an intentional block leaves more questions than it answers. He really should be furious at the angel for turning everything into such a hot mess. He was all prepared and ready to treasure his friend forever in one way and the infuriating bastard went and threw a spanner in the works. Now suddenly there is this hurt little voice that sounds suspiciously like Lucifer in the beginning of all things. It reminds Crowley that his friend didn’t trust him. That something about him is so revolting and vile that the pure pretty angel wouldn’t sully himself that way. There must be something profane and base and gross about his desires. He is taking advantage of this situation and enjoying it too much. Maybe he is going to do something shocking and filthy that will make the angel reel away with disgust and never talk to him again. Maybe this miracle was the only way Aziraphale could stand being around him. Maybe this entire friendship was a big fat lie and he will be left holding his broken heart in his open hands. Fuck.

He can’t let himself get caught in this entire thought spiral again. Aziraphale did come to him and tell him the truth. The angel did ask for him to help and to be there, even when they both knew there would be things like lust and sex and desire all out in the open. He wants to get through it so they can be together. If Aziraphale wanted to shed himself of the miracle he could have disappeared for two thousand years. But the angel decided to be here like this. Crowley isn’t forcing him to do anything at all. It’s going to be ok. He will do anything he has to do to make the angel feel safe and happy. Even if that does mean a two thousand year break. As long as he can come back to the warmth of his presence again. As a friend. As a lover. As anything at all. It’s still bloody terrifying. More than when Satan himself was ripping up a runway and the world was about to end. He cannot fail in this. He won’t. He will get over his shit and help his best friend. His best friend who is now looking at him with worry.

“Are you alright, Crowley?” The angel’s hand has dropped to touch his sleeve. 

“Hm? Ah. Yes, angel. I’m fine. Just thinking.” Crowley drags in a steadying breath to ground himself before plowing on. “So, you have a general idea of what sort of struggle this miracle is going to be. Although, I would imagine it’s going to get a bit more intense before it passes. We need to work out exactly what you are going to be ok with.” The demon groans with frustration and rubs his face as if he can somehow push his annoyance away. He makes several indescribable noises of irritation. 

“If we really were looking at it clearly, I am asking you in one altered mental state to make decisions for yourself in another altered mental state. I still want to shake you by the shoulders, angel. We can only guess what you would be ok with in a perfectly normal clear and base mindset because you haven’t been around me like that in two thousand years. You have been looking at a fake me and I have been looking at an altered you!” 

Aziraphale has started to sag a bit at this rant, his face taking on a pinched sorrowful look. Crowley digs his fingers through his hair before quickly switching away from his frustrated diatribe. “Ah fuck. I am going to stop whingeing on about it. I promise. You were trying to protect yourself. I know this. I might have done the same in your shoes. There is so much purity talk among your lot. Well, not your lot anymore. I don’t... I don’t begrudge your choice. I am just worried. Worried that you are going to be hurt or scared by this mess. Worried that you won’t ever be comfortable with unfiltered, unbiased perceptions of me. Like maybe the filtered version is all you could put up with, really." This admission is so raw and new and painful that he can't even look at Aziraphale. 

"Please Crowley." His angel's eyes are steady and sincere. "Please don't imagine that. I swear when it happened, my first reaction was a flinch. A reflex really. I panicked. But then, the next time I saw you, I just didn't trust you enough. I thought you would laugh at me. I had divided loyalties. I wasn't choosing our side Crowley. I just wasn't ready. It wasn’t because I think it's wrong or wicked. I wanted to be near you and enjoy our time and not be some wild mess that gets us both discorporated for it. That is all. And then I got comfortable. I got complacent and afraid of change. I knew the backfire would mean telling you. Admitting that I did something utterly stupid was intimidating. I want you to see the best in me. It was prideful. And now I know it was selfish too." Aziraphale tugs Crowley's arm to urge him to sit close. Once the demon takes a seat, Aziraphale leans close and takes Crowley's arm. His warm solid weight presses into the demon's side and he tips his head to rest against his shoulder. It is the first time he has ever done such a thing and Crowley finds himself trying not to shift or breathe for a minute, afraid he will end this soft pleasure.

It's suddenly all so simple. None of those awful ideas were anything close to the truth. His friend had simply not been ready. No matter why or how. That was the base of it and all that mattered.

"You don't have to be ready now, Aziraphale. I could, as I said, restrain you. Keep you from anything you would not like. I could ignore whatever you asked for, if I knew you really would prefer not to." 

"Oh now that does sound like a bit of fun some other time. But I don't think so for now.” the angel replies. 

Crowley almost falls off the couch. "Angel, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Crowley exclaims in total shock.

“I am, actually.” Aziraphale looks pleased, with a haughty lift of his chin and his hazel eyes shining with mischief. “You deserve it after being so damn calm just then. Couldn’t you feel it at all, Crowley? I was about to expire or melt and you were utterly unfazed. You looked about two seconds from a kip.”

“Of course I could feel it! We were waist deep in it. A demon would have to be half dead to not feel that. But unlike a certain sneaky angel, I have had two thousand years to practice keeping my hands to myself. I wanted you to get a good dose and a clear understanding of the situation without me interfering, is all. 

The softening of the angel’s expression and his warm regard practically beams benevolence and gratitude. “Thank you. That is so-”

Crowley interrupts the angel with a flat warning look. “Oh, shut up.”

The angel does stop his compliments, but his fond gaze continues to say them anyway. What Crowley had done- No, what he has been doing since the very start of this whole endeavor has been nothing but compassionate and loving. The demon might balk at such a tender analysis, but it is the truth. It’s so typically Crowley too. Aziraphale feels in that moment, how incredibly precious his bright heart is. How ridiculously rare. There is really no filter that could hide how infinitely beautiful Crowley is.

Overcome with all the warm affection this moment deserves, Aziraphale kisses the warm stretch of Crowley's throat. The filter kicks up a cold flood of muddy distaste to discourage him, but he ignores it. He focuses instead on the way Crowley's fingers tighten against his suit coat. 

"My dear boy, I am quite ready to be rid of this terrible miracle. It's not working anyway. I have found that it is possible to want you without lust. I crave your company without noticing your beauty. I want to touch your skin and hold you close for reasons that have nothing to do with how it might feel. Now that I know it might have been hiding too much, I want it gone. I am ready, Crowley."

The demon takes a full minute to respond and the filter is doing all sorts of strange convolutions between stark fear and confusion to his face. Aziraphale can only guess that means the demon is looking gorgeously tempting and trying to gather some answer amid a fit of horniness. "Alright, Angel." He finally manages to say amid many half started words. "But just to be completely and totally clear. We are agreeing to sex. To the touching and kissing and orgasms and such" 

"Yes, Crowley" Aziraphale agrees and turns even further into Crowley's embrace. His posture invites the demon to lift his arm to pull him closer, and so he does. Soft hair in the palest blonde brushes the demon’s chin and Crowley presses his lips against that silky softness. 

"You can let go of it, Aziraphale."


	4. letting go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where we earn our E rating. So buckle up folks. Its about to get lusty up in here

So he does, he releases the miracle entirely, and again that wash of relief unwinds all the tension. Only this time his face is turned into the bare stretch of Crowley's throat. The gorgeous scent of his skin immediately plunges the angel into some olfactory nirvana. How had he just so casually kissed this throat earlier? Now he wants to live there. Unable to resist, he tucks his face in closer and nuzzles into that perfect scent. Somehow his mouth gets involved and he is brushing his open lips over Crowley's pulse. Slender fingers reach up to dig into his hair and the sensory stimulation is enough to have him clutching Crowley’s shirt and sighing with pleasure.

It takes several long moments to gather enough will to extract himself from the need to tangle himself around the demon. Once he manages it, he is too flustered to catch the sardonic smile dancing across Crowley's face.

"Y'allright angel?" Those long delicate hands follow him as he straightens. As if Crowley is as loathe as he is to end the physicality of the moment. The demon doesn't seem to notice that he is still touching him. Oh but Aziraphale does. He notices with absolutely focused attention the implications of every lingering touch. He notices the leaning angle of Crowley's sprawl. It all seems to be speaking new secrets into the room. It half feels like a revelation and also like he might be losing track of what is real. He supposes he could sit for a few hours and consider what it might mean for Crowley to be reaching with his beautiful hands and leaning closer. His mind could chase itself in argument about the topic like some adolescent human teenager until every motion has been diagrammed into his understanding of the world. Only he doesn't have that kind of time! All of the insistence of lust is shoving him headlong to wild conclusions.

His friend might have been lingering and leaning all this time and the miracle hid it. Or perhaps this is as fresh and new as the stomping urgency of his heart. Or the worst option, Crowley is doing no such thing and it's just psychic whiplash to balance the debt owed. Lusty bodies see what they want to. It's fairly common. How would he even know? Each of these possibilities circle in his head until he reaches up to cover his face with his palms. A desperate little sound escapes and Crowley is instantly reaching again, those slender hands are rubbing across his shoulders.

"Oh hey. Aziraphale!" Crowley exclaims and then begins a winding soothing patter of conversation that the angel can't really parse through the buzzing in his skull. It's soothing though and he does settle enough to speak.

"Crowley, I need you to grab us some takeaway." He begs with the desperation of the condemned asking for a last meal.

"What?" Crowley is completely dumbfounded. "Angel seriously. You just dismantled a two thousand year old anti-lust miracle and you suddenly want a Chinese? I thought for sure that time in Paris was a ruse!" The notion of such a great need for sustenance that he must ask for it now of all times has surprised Crowley and he wears that bright amused look that matches the one from the very first day on the wall.

It forces a laugh from Aziraphale. Surprising Crowley is fun enough to make him forget his stress for a moment. "Silly ol serpent." The angel shakes his head, still smiling. "I only need you to leave for a little while. Just a short while. My head feels as if it will split open! I don't need two thousand years but if you could please. Please. I have to try to fit everything in some reasonable order. Give me a tiny bit of space for just long enough to pick up some lovely food. I might be able to endure this." He is back to the fretting anxiety in only moments, his blonde brows knitting and his hands knotting on his lap.

"Of course, angel. Anything you need. I'll go for a little while. I will pick up something you like. I'll take my time." The warmth in his voice reverberates with so much gentle affection that the need blooming in the angel aches with it.

And then.

Then Crowley tips the scales. Those perfect hands are holding Aziraphale's face, cradling him with inhuman delicacy. Without any time for the angel to panic or overthink, Crowley is kissing him. His cool lips touching down without hesitation. It is not the questioning touch of a first kiss. Or the hungry biting thrust of lust. It's the kiss of a lover popping out to pick up some food. The, _I will be back later_ , kiss. Familiar and dry and quick. As if Crowley has forgotten that they do not kiss. He has somehow learned to be so familiar without needing the attention of bodies and years to wear that groove. His beautiful swagger is carrying him away before the angel has taken a breath. The kiss is not an assertion of lust but an affirmation of love. An old love. One handled and used and treasured for a long while. Aziraphale cannot mistake such a thing. In all this confusion and newness of lust and ripe pleasure, he had also ripped away the veil from love. Love that had comforted Aziraphale in the middle of this mess and offered to grab some lunch. Love that slipped between their touching lips with quiet reverent certainty. His miracle had dodged lust and in foolish haste it missed love.

This, the shy sister of lust must drag her along and so between the sound of the door closing and the roar of the Bentley, his body storms again. Need. Over and over his mouth feels that kiss. He is not human. His memory is not just an archive but capable of replaying every picosecond in perfect recall. The brush of those cool fingers. The burning cedar scent of him. Crowley leaving might have been a relief of this igniting pleasure, except he left this kiss behind.

Visions of the beauty that frightened him in the first place now raise themselves to take their due. Crowley there beside him, a lean blade and all that flaming hair. Now combined with taste of those lips. Aziraphale is burning up. All the craving is going to make him discorporate. He makes an effort. It's never been so easy. Ever. Holding lust confined inside a sexless body is pure agony. But keeping his hardon confined in clothes is now presenting its own problem. Bed. He will strip down and use this alone time to ease it.

It must have taken at least a little time to arrange himself naked and clutching his cock in a brand new bedroom. He doesn't bother to remember how he got there. Only that he is now bare in the golden lamplight. Sucking the tips of two fingers while his other hand pumps and squeezes slick and tight around the stone hard length of him. He is lost to the pleasure for a long while. Then he is coming fast and hard. Shouting? His throat feels like he must have shouted. Is this his second orgasm? Third? He had lost track. There was nothing but his mind drawing fantasy after fantasy. Why had he stopped? The raging pleasure is still there.

Movement. A shadow peeling itself away from the doorframe. Crowley is back. Already? But with careful review of the timeline, yes, it's been two hours. He is too sex dazed to panic or cover himself. So he only lies sprawled on the soft cream duvet, his slick hand wet on his hip and his pulsing dick twitching in the crease of his thigh.


	5. a hundred spheres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **starts the barry white album**

"You don't have to stop on my account angel" The shadow resolves itself into that long lean familiar slouch as Crowley steps further into the room. When that doesn't garner a response, his lip twitches a bit. "Food is in the other room if you would like some." 

Aziraphale manages a noise that somehow acknowledges that statement but doesn't commit to either getting up or staying put. It sounds a little bit like "mmuuh". 

Crowley's amusement grows. "So, this is what it takes to stop your constant nattering." He bursts into laughter and dodges the pillow Aziraphale chucks at him. He throws up his hands in defense. "I'm only having a lark! I like your nattering just fine, angel." He teases. "It's just fine. As fine as watching you tuck in." He takes another long survey of the angel with his eyes. "Not nearly as fine as you are now though." 

His teasing banter has brought him to the end of the bed, where he looks down at the pretty flushed picture the angel makes. His golden eyes soften and heat at the closer view. "I can go if you need more time, Aziraphale." Crowley uses his name to underline his sincerity and commitment to letting the angel decide. But the way his tongue touches his bottom lip after he asks the question indicates his own opinion on the matter.

It's the first time Aziraphale has seen open desire and lust on Crowley's face. It had been impossible to see for two thousand years and now it is like staring at the sun. This is what he had been missing. So beautiful. Warm and sexy and right. If any being had ever been made to lust after in lamplight it is Crowley. All of that golden warmth radiates from the soft copper of his hair. The sharp corners of him are airbrushed with gold. The haughty tip of his chin and cherry paint of his lips fight the gender spectrum and land on divine. The piercing gold of his gaze rivals the lamps and blaze with predatory glittering intent. Sure, Aziraphale is drunk on lust, but he is quite convinced that anyone caught in this room with Crowley looking like that would feel the same. The amused smirk is back as Crowley notices the angel is wrecked all over again. 

"May I join you angel?" His question is almost a whisper. Intimate and soft. There is something vulnerable about this. As if he might be turned away.

"Please" Aziraphale manages while stretching his hand across the mattress. 

"Tell me what you were thinking about when I came in. It looked good. I'll give you whatever you want if I can." He invites while sliding his hand to tangle their fingers. 

Oh it's too much! Aziraphale demurs and pulls his hand away to cover his eyes. 

Crowley laughs. "Ok. Ok. Fine. I tell you what, angel. For every detail you give me, I will take off an item of clothing. Hmm? Come on, beautiful. Don't you think I am a little bit overdressed?" He cocks a sly brow and lights up the entire room with his pleasure. Crowley is in his element. Temptation is his wheelhouse and he is inviting Aziraphale to let him play. He is holding the delicate threads of this craving and tugging the angel with all the skill and clever invitation he has.

Temptation-to-lust is a razor sharp awareness just standing beside the demon. It’s a melting pleasure when holding him as a fantasy. Right here and now, that bright flash of joy is a total surprise. He has seen Crowley mourning and hurt and bitchy and amused. He has seen him relaxed and aggressive, but this? Happy. Crowley is lit up with happiness. He is truly having fun. There has always been some distinct line where he doesn’t involve the angel in this particular temptation. Sure, he has played a few times at teasing the angel into gluttony or some petty reroutes around the truth. But lust has been left alone. Of course, Aziraphale is quite aware of his opinions on the topic. The puritanical and victorian starchy attitudes toward sex is outrageous and has inspired many a rant. The true issues around lust are all about consent. The demon has been known to use temptation-to-lust as a push to encourage a swift dethroning from many institutions that claim purity, at least he had claimed it to his head office. It is truly only speculation as to how much the demon has played in this particular arena. No matter how many hints those hips seem to be giving.

Aziraphale isn’t the only one who has been hiding. This is something the demon truly enjoys. So, he really should give him this. Humor this little game. Well, because he looks so happy. Not to see him naked. Of course not! Well. maybe a little bit to see him naked. Holy fuck, he is going to have a happy naked Crowley in this room. With no filter. Nothing to block out exactly how stunning he is. 

“Well- It. I was thinking about you.” Aziraphale offers.

“Oh come on, angel!” Crowley scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Obviously!” he is laughing as he bends to shuck his shoes off. “You only get my shoes for that one, cheeky bitch. You were shouting my name. I had to race in here just in case you were being discorporated. Tell me something I don’t know!” 

“I was never!” Aziraphale argues with as much affront as a naked angel can manage.

“Oh yes you were.” the demon smugly asserts. “Stop stalling. It’s your turn.” 

The comfortable bite of their usual banter is all mixed into this exchange and only that pushes him to say “You were on top. Above me.” No, his imagination isn't leaping so wickedly to how the demon is going to look. All bright and lean and naked. Certainly not that.

Crowley flashes his white teeth with feral delight and begins unbuttoning his shirt. "On top. Mmhmm." He shrugs his shoulder to dislodge the soft black fabric. 

Aziraphale had not been prepared. The shirt falls away and Crowley doesn't stop moving. All that golden light is dripping down the slender cut of his shoulders. And there is the delicate ridge of his collarbone. He doesn't stop at the edge of the bed. He doesn't stop and Aziraphale cannot breathe. The intent heat in Crowley's eyes freezes the angel in place as he advances until that bare skin is touching his. Beautiful hands press his shoulders until he is flat on his back. Black leather drags smooth and hot against his stomach. Before his next blink, there is a shirtless demon perched atop his thighs. He is so close. So real. The fantasy had been so so good. The reality is so much heavier. The weight of him pressing down. 

Lust rakes hot lines of shivering ache right into the heart of him and he hangs on to the sheets for dear life. This spasm of pleasure has him rising to the occasion and Crowley doesn't even bother to hide that he notices. He watches Aziraphale gasp and shiver and bare his throat. He watches the pink flush spread down his chest and his cock twitching to attention. He doesn't wait for Aziraphale to recover. Instead, he reaches for the angel's clutching hands. He strokes cool fingers over his wrists. It brings the angel back into some focus and Crowley lifts Aziraphale's hands up onto the leather clad spread of his thighs. Once his eyes have cleared enough to be coherent, Crowley flexes his thighs in a squeeze and smiles."Hello"

"Crowley." It's all the angel can manage to say and it sounds soft and wrecked and perfect. 

"Go on then." Crowley urges. 

"You had. You had your wings out." Aziraphale admits while turning his eyes down to the pale vision of his hands against leather. It’s a futile attempt to cool his ardor. Looking away from the bright passion of Crowley’s eyes had seemed the best attempt. Those trousers though!

The demon’s posture stiffens."Really?" His usual boldness flickers for a moment as real shock has pinned him perfectly still. "But, angels. Whu- I mean. Your wings are white.” 

Aziraphale simply blinks up at the suddenly self conscious demon atop him. “Crowley, you wear black constantly. You practically flaunt the color. If I were guessing, I would say that you dress in black as a defiant statement. As if you WANT to remind everyone that your wings are black. Like you picked the color yourself. Like you don’t even care. Now we are here, and you are telling me that you are somehow shy about your wings being occult. As if you have no idea how perfect that black shines against your skin and hair. Crowley, I have known you for six thousand years and I will never understand you.”

“Ngk.” Crowley exclaims before hiding his face in his palms for a second to compose himself. After a moment, the sound of disbelieving laughter fills the room. “Angel, you are supposed to be mindless with lust. It’s so thick in here I can feel it on my skin. Why can’t you just wallow in it like everyone else? You seriously are going to analyse my hang ups right now?” 

“Well, dear boy, I am still me.” the angel asserts in a prim tone.

Crowley chuckles, “oh yes, you are. Same pain in my arse.” he comments fondly.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be, Crowley. We will be very careful and I will be gentle.” The cheeky angel manages to say with his face completely solemn. Only the knowing curve in the corners of his mouth give it away. "Now who is stalling, take them out for me." Crowley makes another choking surprised laugh that is half aroused and half astounded.

An ozone implosion heralds the arrival of those great dark wings and the demon shudders for a second atop him. The exposure is as racy as the strip tease. Neither species, occult or ethereal, flash their wings except in battle or mating these days. Aziraphale can count on one hand how many times he had even seen them. Not only are they here, but answering some ancient imperative to hunch at the arch and spread wide around them. Crowley is mantling to hide the angel beneath him like some warrior taking his mate. Not even the angel's fantasy had been so lusty. The romance novel quality of his posture might as well have been the strong rogue ripping a bodice. The gesture is already made before the demon can stop it and his flaming face is quietly trying to look passive.

"Crowley." The angel's voice is once again rough with lust and it turns those soft golden eyes down to him. "Leave the leather on." Aziraphale licks his lips and rubs his hot palms down the inside of Crowley's thighs. A raw shiver flicks the tips of the demon's wings and he nods.

"Anything you want, angel. Tell me. It's your turn again."

The angel inches his fingers toward the center seam of those infernal trousers, eyeing the tight bulge of Crowley's dick straining the leather. His thumb skates over where the flared bellend of his cockhead is outlined and the demon's hands fly down instinctively to catch the wandering tease. "You were touching here. Your hand was wet and tight and holding it bare. Rubbing. Pulling it. I could see dripping from the tip, more wetness that you touched with your fingers." 

The angel reaches for the button and zipper but his hands tremble and Crowley beats him to it. He bats his hands away while splaying the waistband wide open and exposing a sky blue stretch of extremely provocative underwear. Those are only glimpsed long enough for the angel's eyes to catch before Crowley snaps his fingers and the lingerie is banished. It's hard to complain because the hot ruddy cock that spills free does indeed drip from its tip. The shining slick smears onto Crowley's wrist and Aziraphale immediately imagines catching that hand and tasting it. He groans and mentally agrees with the demon's heartfelt "fuck!".  
"Like this, angel? Was it like this?" Crowley bites his lip and rolls his hips toward the Angel while making a proper fist around his erection. 

"Almost, Crowley." Aziraphale's hands are once again at the waistband of those trousers and with one solid yank, he rips them wider bursting the zipper and destroying the seam. The jagged sound of his leather being destroyed clears enough sex haze for Crowley to protest. "Oi! Angel! I thought you liked these trousers."

"I like them more now." Aziraphale growls. "Up onto your knees." All of the fluttering shyness in the angel has been obliterated in the thundering demand of lust. Crowley rushes to obey, immediately rising to his knees and shivering with the force of it. Goosebumps break out over his skin. The heat of the angel's body replaced by cooler air on his exposed skin. Not for long though, because in the next moment, Aziraphale has lifted one hand. One brush of his fingertips along the naked flesh behind his scrotum. Then his wrist nudging, the heel of his hand pressing up. Hard. Into his perineum. A single blunt hot finger wedging intimately there. Right there. A fingertip brushing and teasing his hole. The angel's hand is spread beneath him in the most possessive intimacy. "Sit" the angel commands.

Crowley sits. All of his weight dropping down onto the support of a single hand. The angel shows no sign of strain. No flicker of a tremble. And that hand holds him. Lifted. His thighs splayed and his balls spilling over the Angel's wrist. His weight presses the angel's fingers so tight into his flesh that he can feel the stretch of each steel steady bone imprinting itself into his flesh. The pull of the planet is grinding those fingers deep into his flesh. He is displayed. It's so impossible and inhuman and perfect. Lust howls through his chest and the occult power within him squirms and thrashes. "Fuck. Angel. I can't. I don’t know how this much lust can even fit into a room. Ha! Fuck." Crowley grits his teeth in the onslaught and his body clenches in several long spasms. His abs wringing up tight, thighs clenching and then falling open again. He pants for air and the spasms tighten his balls to the edge of orgasm and his hot little hole flutters and twitches.

Aziraphale waits for the demon to settle, holding perfectly still and watching the beautiful strain of pleasure roll over Crowley in waves. It takes a long while, but eventually the wash of ecstasy eases enough that they are connected again. The demon's attention is like fire. His face is rapt with something like worship and the bright beauty of it is at once unbearable and impossible to ignore. 

"It was like this, just like this Crowley. I held you in my hand and felt you come. You touched yourself while I touched you here. You rolled your hips to push up into your hand but also to rub and rock against my fingers." The snapping teeth of temptation-to-lust have pushed Aziraphale right to the limit of what he has the control to ask for. All he has left is the thinnest ability to demand. "Show me, demon." 

Crowley almost chokes on the power in the room, but he does. He shows Aziraphale everything. The fight to hold his pleasure to the end is staggering, his cock was already kissing wet against his stomach right from the start. But he still lingers a little while. Ghosting his pale pretty hands over his chest to thumb his nipples. He exposes the flutter of his pulse and the matching butterfly beat of his lashes. His face draws down in concentration and those white teeth bite and bite his lips red. All the lean line of him stretches and flexes as he finds some relief in the drag of his fist down the stiff length of his prick. It’s enough to balance some of ravenous demand blasting from the angel. 

“My angel.” Crowley whispers as if only to himself. The cracks between his occult being and this body are warping so badly that golden light spills from his eyes. Those great wings pull shadows from the walls and wrap him in a night sky. He shines there, suspended against the black. Aziraphale curls his soft fingertip to tap tap against the sensitive rim of muscle where the heat of the demon beckons.

Crowley shakes. He rubs down into the touch to work the dry hot finger deeper. He groans when that finger is too broad for his unprepared hole and it burns sweetly before brushing away to circle and tease. Something unlocks his mouth and suddenly soft urgent words are tumbling forward. "Look at me angel. I can't stop. Whatever you want. You can have it. Have me. Don't hide your eyes from me again. I'll be good. I'll make it good. For you. Please. Let me. Fuck." Crowley is gasping and rubbing his cock with the slowest tightest fist as if he wants the angel to lose his mind before it's over. As if the glut of lust isn't sweeping him into incoherent scraps of the angel's name mixed with adamant swearing in several languages. 

"I almost forgot." He murmurs and shakes his head. As if loosened from the back, several long copper curls tumble over his shoulder. He reaches with his free hand to loosen more of it until a fountain of flame bright hair curls down to his naked waist. One long sweep of it falls to hide his face for a moment but those glowing eyes still pierce through to watch the angel. The reaction is immediate. The visceral punch of raw lust escalates past the point of hanging on. It rages wild and Crowley snaps his teeth with the feral impulse to bite. His oral impulses are matched by the angel who takes the demon's pale fingers into his mouth and sucks. Licks. There isn't any more gentle easy flirting. The demon is stripping his engorged cock with singular focus. They both shout as he comes. His body shudders in long lovely juddering spasms as he spills over his fist and onto Aziraphale's stomach and thighs. 

The satisfied gulping relief from the backlash of power releases into the room with an implosion. It's not going to be enough to satisfy the miracle, but its enough to give them room to breathe. For Aziraphale to lower his hand and for his lover to sprawl boneless atop him. Crowley heaves great shuddering gasps against his throat. They have the moment to rediscover all the edges of how to exist and not fly apart. Those great stained wings still mantle to cover them both with anchoring heavy weight. The storm has abated for now. Together, they rest.


End file.
